


Call Of The Wild

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to Season 10, Episode 9 "The Things We Left Behind".  The Mark of Cain has been making Dean act strangely for weeks now and he cannot control himself any longer. The Mark is calling for blood and its Sam's blood that spills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Of The Wild

Dean was on lockdown.

He was not going to leave the Bunker until they had figured out how to remove the Mark of Cain.

The drive back to Kansas from Illinois was a quiet one, the air in the Impala full of tension.

Dean had insisted he was fine, brushing off his freak-out as though it was nothing and actually had the audacity to ask if they could stop somewhere to get a late-night snack.

"This is serious, Dean!" Sam had snapped, driving the classic Chevy because he didn't want his brother behind the wheel.

Dean scoffed, "I don't see a problem. Those guys were assholes and they had it coming anyway. They're better off dead."

Sam pursed his lips, had shaken his head before speaking again, "We have to get this fixed, Dean. This is so not good."

The older Winchester had glared at his brother and crossed his arms irritably over his chest.

"I don't see what the problem is, Sam. I had everything under control."

The younger sibling took his eyes off the road for a moment to stare at his brother, "Uh, obviously you didn't, Dean. And while we're on the topic, how long has this been going on?"

Dean said nothing; instead he reached over and turned on the radio, jacking the volume up when Black Sabbath's 'Hand of Doom' came on so that he wouldn't have to listen to Sam chew him out anymore.

Sam had ground his teeth, hands tightening around the steering wheel so that his knuckles turned white, and didn't say another word until they arrived in Kansas.

SPN

Sam stared at the open tome in front of him, hands gipping the hair at either side of his head.

Dean sat a few seats away from him, leaning back in his chair, chuckling to himself, watching 'The Three Stooges' again most likely.

Sighing with frustration, Sam shoved the book he'd been reading away and grabbed another one from the pile of volumes he'd gathered from the Bunker's collection.

"Any luck there, Sherlock?" Dean asked and Sam lifted his head to glare at him.

"This is serious, Dean," the younger man growled, "And why aren't you helping me? Don't you want that thing off your arm?"

Dean lowered his laptop screen but didn't close the computer completely, "Why is this such a problem for you?"

Sam blinked at him in disbelief, "Why isn't this a problem for you?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't see anything wrong with killing a bunch of assholes, Sam, I thought that was what we did."

Sam sat up straighter, now not interested in the book at all, "You didn't see it, Dean. You were… I don't know… zoned out, like you weren't there. It was… scary."

Dean bit his lip, hesitating.

"I just… I don't want this to get worse, Dean," Sam muttered into the silence, "You know?"

Sam's brother nodded once but when he spoke up it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Cain managed to live with this thing," Dean reminded him, reaching out to place his left hand over the Mark, "For centuries."

Sam shook his head, "He's demon, Dean. You're… not."

There was a pregnant pause and Dean took the opportunity to stand and stretch, arms above his head.

"I'm going to get something to eat from the kitchen," he said casually as if they hadn't just been discussing a heavy topic, "You want anything?"

Sam shook his head and turned his gaze to the yellowing pages of the book he'd pulled out, beginning to read quietly, hoping the Men of Letters' had found something about the Mark of Cain and how to remove it.

SPN

Dean peered into the main room and smiled when he caught sight of Sam sleeping at the same table he'd refused to leave all day, head pillowed on top of a book.

Crossing the room, Dean peered down at his sibling and felt a sudden pang of guilt rattle in his chest.

Sam was just trying to help him, no more than what Dean himself would do if their positions were reversed.

Reaching out, the older Winchester brushed his brother's long bangs away from his face.

Sam startled awake- surprising Dean- and sat up, blinking blearily.

"D'n?" he muttered and wiped a hand across his face.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Dean apologized.

Sam peered owlishly up at him and Dean sighed, "C'mon Sasquatch, let's get you to bed."

The older brother took hold of his sibling's upper arm; calling Sam by the nickname he hadn't used in years and pulled him up.

"No," Sam muttered, "Gotta fix you… Gotta get rid of the Mark…"

Dean frowned; Sam was really out of it.

"You can research to your heart's content tomorrow, Sammy," he promised his brother, "But right now you really need some rest."

Sam didn't complain further and followed Dean out of the main room and down the hallway to his bedroom. Sam fell onto the mattress before Dean could even pull the blankets down. Dean peered somewhat sadly at his brother; Sam must be exhausted, he thought and retreated quietly from the room, closing the door after himself.

W

Dean wasn't surprised to see Sam sitting at the same table in the main room he'd been occupying the day before as he padded down the hallway late the next morning, stomach growling loudly.

Without even looking up from the book he was perusing, Sam spoke.

"There's coffee in the kitchen."

"When did you get up?" Dean asked.

Sam still looked tired; his face a little pale and the beginnings of dark circles showing beneath his eyes.

Instead of answering, Sam let him know he'd need to make a grocery run later.

Dean bit his tongue to keep from saying something rude and made his way into the kitchen instead. After pouring himself a steaming mug of coffee, the older Winchester set about fixing himself some breakfast.

Finding a box of waffles in the freezer, Dean stuck the last two into the toaster before grabbing a box of Captain Crunch cereal and pouring a bowl. Once the waffles were toasted, Dean slathered butter onto them and drowned them in maple syrup.

Carefully, balancing his breakfast with both hands, Dean returned to the main room of the Bunker and sat down across from his brother, pushing books out of the way as he did so.

Sam lifted his head and frowned but said nothing.

After a few moments of silence, interrupted only by the sound of Dean chewing or slurping coffee, Sam spoke.

"Maybe I'm looking into this too much."

Dean smiled through a mouthful of cereal, "Damn right."

Sam ignored him, "Maybe we don't need some potion or spell to remove the Mark. Maybe you could give it to someone the same way Cain gave it to you."

Dean stopped chewing and stared at his brother, "And how the hell are we supposed to do that?"

Sam looked at him, expectant, "I don't know, Dean, I wasn't there."

Dean swallowed and sat back, wiping a hand down his face.

"I don't think that'll work, Sammy," he told his brother.

"Why not?" Sam asked, his tone telling Dean that he was certain the logic of his idea was infallible.

"First, we'd have to convince some sucker that they need to use the First Blade," Dean told his sibling, Sam nodding as he spoke, "And second, the person has to be 'worthy' of the Mark."

Sam frowned, his brow furrowing, "'Worthy' of the Mark? What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know, Cain didn't exactly give me an owner's manual for this thing."

"But it worked for you," Sam said, "So… we just have to find someone like you who'll take it."

Dean couldn't help but smile, "Good luck with that, Sammy, I'm one-of-a-kind."

His brother scowled at him, "Fine, since we don't know much about the Mark, why don't we go and find Cain and ask him all about it?"

Dean laughed but his mirth quickly dried up once he realized that Sam was serious.

"No way," he argued, "That is not going to happen."

"Why not, Dean? Maybe he'll know how to get rid of the Mark."

The older Winchester leveled his gaze at his sibling, "Because I am not letting him anywhere near you."

"But what if he could help?" Sam insisted, giving Dean his puppy-eyed expression.

"I said no, Sam!" Dean snapped startling his brother, "You're so smart, you'll find another way to get rid of the Mark."

Sam sat back in his chair; his expression stunned and a little hurt.

Dean, feeling anger rise up in his chest like hot bile, grabbed his breakfast dishes and stood.

"If you need me I'll be in my room," he told his sibling and made a hasty retreat so that he wouldn't give into the urge to hit something.

SPN

Sam sighed and raked a hand through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face.

"Are you sure you do not want me to come?" Castiel asked, his gravelly voice tinged with concern.

"No, no, it's okay," Sam muttered, "We're fine here."

"If you are certain…" the angel continued, his tone letting Sam knew he didn't believe him.

Sam nodded though he knew Cas couldn't see him, cell phone pressed tightly to one ear hard enough to make it ache.

"I'll call you if I have any trouble," Sam promised, "Have you found anything on your side?"

"I contacted Hannah last night and she still has not found anything of use to you or Dean," the angel informed the hunter, "But she assures me that she will keep searching."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, "And thank Hannah when you talk next."

"I will Sam," Castiel assured the human, "And Sam?"

"Yeah?" the hunter asked tiredly, already his eyes were itching with fatigue and it was only mid-morning.

"Please be cautious."

"I will, Cas," Sam promised, "See you later."

Ending the call, the young man leaned against the table, head bowed.

Before the Winchesters had left Illinois, Castiel had promised to help Sam find a way to lift the Mark from his brother but so far neither hunter nor angel had found anything that would finally remove the curse from Dean.

Sam was certain they'd find something, they always managed to scrape by, it seemed. He just hoped that it wouldn't be too late.

Dropping into his chair again, Sam stared at the ancient tome before him, its pages brown and crumbly with age, the writing faded almost completely from the paper so the hunter had to read with his nose almost touching the musty pages, eyes squinted against the dust that seemed to waft from the volume.

SPN

Dean sat on the kitchen counter, watching as Sam unpacked the groceries he'd bought in town.

"Did you remember to get the-" Dean asked, his question cut off when Sam tossed a flat box the same size as a dinner plate at him.

Dean caught the box and peered through the circle of plastic covering the top at the strawberry pie Sam had gotten for him.

"Have I told you recently that you're the best brother ever?" Dean asked and Sam grunted distractedly, carefully placing a carton of eggs in the fridge.

"Can you pass me that bag?" Sam asked, straightening up and Dean pushed a plastic grocery bag sitting on the counter beside him towards his sibling.

As Dean continued to watch his sibling, he tried to remember the last time he'd seen Sam eat anything.

He couldn't.

Hopping down from the counter, Dean stretched his arms out in front of him, "I'll take care of the rest, Sammy."

His brother stopped and looked at him for a moment.

"Why don't you take a break? I'll make lunch," Dean suggested companionably.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam muttered.

The older Winchester ignored the younger and took the box of Cocoa Puffs he was holding from his hand.

"Research, watch porn, whatever," Dean said, "Just let me finish this, okay?"

Sam nodded once, "Yeah, okay… Thanks."

Dean flashed him a grin, "No problem."

He watched as his brother left the kitchen, knowing that Sam was only going to return to the main room and the stack of books he'd piled up on that one table.

Sighing, Dean turned towards away and put the box of cereal in the cupboard.

SPN

Sam ate his sandwich as he read. He had to find a way to help Dean, he just had to. He had changed Dean back to human when he'd been turned into a demon, he could lift the Mark from his brother.

He just didn't know how.

SPN

Dean was standing in the middle of the main room of the bunker, in the dark, knuckles white as he clutched a knife in his right hand.

He was breathing heavily, feeling as though he wanted to jump out of his skin. He had just been fighting something or someone but now the battle was over and he could calm down now.

Raising the hand holding the knife, the hunter made to wipe his sweaty brow when he stopped. His hand and the blade were smeared with a dark-red liquid. Blood.

Dean peered curiously at the liquid staining his hand for a long moment before he remembered Sam. His brother might be hurt; he needed to make sure he was safe.

"Sam?" Dean said and his gaze around the room, "Sammy?"

Maybe he hadn't even heard the intruder and was still asleep in his room.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean smiled, deciding that he could take a shower and then deal with whatever was left of the intruder in the morning.

Dean's shoes squished on blood as he moved forward, around one of the room's long pinewood tables, making him pause before he looked up and saw something behind the table; a single arm lay outstretched, the rest of the body hidden by darkness.

Bile suddenly rose up Dean's throat and he rushed forward, fear descending over him.

Sam lay sprawled on the floor, bloody and unmoving.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean dropped to his knees beside his sibling, terrified as he pulled his brother into his arms and the younger man remained as still as before.

Even in the dim light of the main room, Dean could see the front of his brother's shirt darkened with blood.

"Sam?" Dean called but there was no reply from his sibling.

What the hell had attacked him? Dean thought, a black dog?

Then, the hunter realized he was still holding onto the knife. Lifting the weapon to eye-level, Dean stared at the blade for a long moment before his gaze darted back down to his brother, the pieces quickly coming together.

"No," Dean breathed, and threw the knife across the room, sending it skidding underneath a table to hit the far wall with a metallic thud.

"No," Dean pressed his blood-smeared fingers against Sam's throat frantically, praying, that he'd feel a pulse.

"NO!" Dean cried; Sam was gone.

"NO! Please, Sam! Come back! Come back!"

The older sibling gathered the younger into his arms and curled over, sobbing.

Sam was dead and he killed him. He had murdered his own brother….

…Dean woke with a start. He sat up, panting for air, greasy sweat dripping down his face and into his eyes, making them stream.

Dean clenched his eyes shut.

It was just a nightmare. Only a nightmare. He'd never hurt Sam. Never like that.

Dean sat forward, elbows on his knees and he ran both hands through his short hair, calming down.

After a moment, the hunter chuckled, finding the whole idea ridiculous. The dream starting to fade in Dean's mind already and within moments he was once again laying his head against the pillow, sleep taking him once again.

W

The next morning Dean's nightmare was completely forgotten; the only thing on his mind was breakfast.

SPN

Sam grabbed his cellphone as soon as the alarm went off, silencing the chiming quickly. It was late, almost three o'clock in the morning but the young man did not mind at all. He needed to wait until his brother went to sleep before he made the call, just in case Dean interrupted him and found out what he was planning.

Seven days had passed since they had returned to the Bunker and Sam was starting to think that there was no miracle cure to remove the Mark from his brother. The more he though about it, the more it made sense that Dean would have to transfer Cain's Mark to another person, the same way the eons-old demon had done with his brother.

The only problem was, Dean didn't want to talk about Cain and didn't want Sam to go in search of him, wouldn't even say where the demon was hiding out.

Despite Dean's reluctance- it would seem- to ask Cain about the Mark, Sam didn't feel the same way as his brother and if he had to track down the demon himself and get the information on his own, he would.

He even knew exactly who to talk to about finding Cain, since Sam had no idea.

Turning on his phone, Sam jabbed Castiel's number in and waited for the angel to answer.

Sam knew that Dean didn't want him to go in search of Cain but that was just too bad; Dean wasn't helping out in any way so Sam had no choice. Besides, Sam had fought against demons before- powerful demons- and the thought of Cain didn't scare the young hunter at all.

"Sam?" Castiel's voice asked in a gravelly, muzzy tone that told the young man the angel had been asleep.

"Yeah," the hunter answered, "Sorry to wake you, I just didn't want to risk Dean eavesdropping on our-"

"Is everything alright?" Cas asked instantly, interrupting Sam.

Sam nodded as he spoke, "We're still cool, Cas; Dean's just going stir-crazy I think."

"Hannah has still not found anything that may help remove the Mark," the angel told Sam.

"That's okay," the hunter replied, "I think I have an idea anyway."

"What's that?" Castiel asked, now sounding curious.

Sam took a breath, not sure how the angel was going to react when he found out what he planned to do.

"Dean said that Cain told him the Mark could be given to someone 'worthy' of it," Sam began, speaking quickly to prevent Castiel having a chance to interrupt again, "Whatever that means. That's all Dean told me. I've been scouring through the Men of Letters' research to see if they've written anything about the Mark of Cain but so far I've come up with squat. I think that to find out any useful information on this thing I need to go straight to the source. I need to find Cain and ask him in person."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone and Sam's heart began to beat quickly, nervously.

"Is Dean unwilling to return to where he and Crowley found Cain and ask him how to remove the Mark?"

Sam let out a deep breath, "He's no help whatsoever. When I suggested going to Cain, he shot me down."

"And Dean is not actively assisting you in finding a way to get rid of the Mark?" Castiel asked.

"No," Sam grumbled, "He just sits around and eats and watches TV on his computer all day."

The hunter didn't want to sound like he was complaining but if he was Dean; he'd be frantically trying to find a way to remove the Mark.

"What do you need to do?" Cas asked; Sam read between the lines, the angel meant 'what do you think you need to do'.

"Since Dean's not helping, I want to go and ask Cain about this Mark myself," Sam told the angel, "Only, I have no idea where he is. I thought that maybe you would know where to find him or at least be able to track him somehow."

There was another pause before Cas spoke, "You are aware that Cain is a demon?"

"I know but I need to talk to him," Sam replied.

"Is there no way you can speak about this with Dean?" the angel asked and Sam shook his head as he answered.

"When I brought Cain up before Dean told me to stay away from him and wouldn't talk about him again," Sam told Cas.

"Please," Sam said, "I just want Dean back to normal, whatever I have to do."

There was silence on the other end before the angel spoke once again, "Very well, Sam. I will see if I can find out where Cain is and send you his location."

Sam felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, "Thank you, Cas."

"Are you going to tell Dean?" the angel wanted to know.

"Don't worry, I have it covered," Sam answered and ended the call, feeling as though he was one step closer to helping his brother.

W

Sam didn't like keeping things from his brother, he knew from experience that it never ended well, but he knew Dean would forbid him from seeking out Cain, especially on his own.

Sam continued to pour through the research the Men of Letters' had compiled, just in case he came across something about Cain and the Mark, all the while walking on eggshells around his brother, certain that somehow Dean would know what he was planning.

Sam needn't have worried though; Dean was far too preoccupied to notice him much. As the days passed and the week grew into a fortnight, Dean only seemed to pay attention to his brother when Sam brought him something to eat.

W

Sam woke groggily to the sound of his cellphone ringing. Confused, he stared at the Caller ID for a long moment before answering, Castiel on the other end.

"Hey! Sorry," Sam answered quickly, his voice a loud whisper, "Did you find Cain?"

"I was successful in locating the demon," Castiel answered, "However-"

Sam interrupted, "Great! Where is he?"

The angel told him where Cain was.

"Sam, perhaps I should come with you," the angel said, "Cain may not be willing to speak to you."

The hunter shook his head, "And you think he'll want to talk to an angel? Sorry, Cas, no offence but I need to do this by myself."

"… Very well, if you feel you must. But if there is any danger, leave immediately if you can," Castiel told Sam and the hunter promised he would.

After ending his call with the angel, Sam began to prepare. There was no way Dean would let him go on his own and his brother was certain to notice if he didn't reappear from a 'grocery run' for hours.

Climbing out of bed, Sam went to his duffel bag and unzipped it, shoving clothes aside as he searched.

Sitting back, the hunter quickly read the label on the bottle of sleeping pills. They were old but he was certain they would let Dean sleep for a few hours at least, giving him a chance to get out of Kansas at least before he realized Sam was not coming back right away.

Standing, Sam returned to his bed, setting the alarm on his cellphone and slipping the bottle of pills into the drawer of his nightstand.

Turning out the light, the young man laid down on his back, staring up at the darkened ceiling for a long moment before closing his eyes and falling asleep once again.

SPN

Dean yawned widely as he stepped into the Bunker's main room and smiled when he saw Sam standing in front of one of the tables, cup of coffee in hand.

"Morning," Dean greeted, taking the offered beverage.

"I hope you're hungry," Sam said jokingly and Dean smiled.

"Starving," he answered and took a seat.

Sam nodded and left the room, returning to the kitchen to leave Dean to enjoy his coffee in peace.

The older Winchester leaned back and sipped at his drink, enjoying the rich, earthy aroma and heavy taste.

Dean noticed that there were no books or notes strewn across any of the tables and smiled; Sam must have decided to take a break. That was good; Sam shouldn't be killing himself over this. Dean felt certain that he had a good handle on the Mark and everything that came with it. Sam, who was looking decidedly peakier than usual lately- Dean noticed- could use some time to rest and not worry about him.

Dean looked up when he heard footsteps and saw Sam coming, tall glass of orange juice in one hand and plate of pancakes in the other.

"What service," Dean said and sat his cup of coffee down, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of breakfast.

Sam smiled and sat across from him.

"You're not eating?" Dean asked but Sam shook his head, "I had something earlier."

Dean nodded and started in on the meal without any more hesitation.

W

Dean sat back and sighed contentedly. The pancakes had been fantastic; light and fluffy with just the right amount of syrup and butter on them.

Now that he was full, Dean began to enjoy his orange juice. The liquid was lukewarm but still tasty. Dean guzzled it down greedily.

"Ah," Dean said, satisfied, "That was great, Sam-"

The older Winchester's gaze had caught on something in his glass of orange juice. Something that shouldn't be there.

Along with the usual leftover juice and pulp, there were miniscule bits of white crumbs, not pancake, but something else.

Frowning, Dean looked closer and he could have sworn that there were bits of ground up medicine- pills- in his glass of orange juice.

He tore his gaze away from the glass and looked at his brother. Sam's expression didn't change, although his eyes- so expressive- flickered with fear.

"What is this?" Dean asked slowly, carefully.

"Dean-" Sam began but he was interrupted.

"What the hell is this, Sam?"

His brother held up his hands in the universal gesture for surrender, "Dean, let me explain-"

Sam had put something in his drink. He was trying to poison him. Kill him.

Dean knew that this train of thought was irrational but sudden anger washed over him like a wave of heat, pushing all logical process away.

"What the fuck did you do?" Dean snarled, hand tightening around the glass.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His eyes were wide and now the flicker of fear Dean had seen moments ago resided there.

Dean wanted nothing more than to punish his brother for trying to harm him. Him.

How dare he?

Hand still gripping the glass, Dean brought the cup down, shattering its top against the table, creating a ring of jagged class.

Before Sam could escape, Dean leaped across the table, clattering the breakfast dishes onto the floor where they smashed, and shoved his brother down on his back.

"Dean!" Sam cried in shock and pain as his back hit the floor hard, Dean's full weight on top of him, "Stop! Calm down!"

Dean raised his arm and slashed out with the broken glass. Sam brought his right arm up to protect his face and grunted in pain as the glass sliced into his skin.

Dean threw the broken cup away- it smashed against the floor- and pushed his brother's bloodied arm away, his hands wrapping around Sam's throat.

"D'n!" Sam wheezed, hands tugging at his wrists, trying to pull them away.

The older brother tightened his grip, preventing Sam from speaking at all. Baring his teeth in a maniacal grin, Dean watched as Sam's face began to turn red, then purple, then white, as he continued to deny his sibling of oxygen.

Once Sam stopped moving- fighting- Dean released him and sat back. His brother's head fell to one side but he did not regain consciousness.

Dean's anger, however, did not abate and he curled his right hand into a fist, bringing it down on his prone brother's face, Sam's nose breaking on contact.

Blow after blow connected with Sam's face, Dean hitting his sibling as hard as he could, until his hands ached and blood was splattered up to his wrists.

Still, the furnace that was fueling the older brother's anger continued to burn. Standing, paying no heed to his sibling and stepping carelessly on Sam as he moved, Dean pulled back his foot- clad in his heavy boots- and kicked his brother in the abdomen.

Finally, Dean's rage began to dwindle and moved slowly, deliberately out of the room and down the hallway, his mind free of all thought or concern for his sibling.

W

Dean opened his eyes and saw that he was in his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands dangling down at his sides.

Frowning, the hunter shook his head to clear away the cobwebs that seemed to have gathered in his brain.

Why was he in his room? What time was it?

Turning his head, Dean grew even more confused when he saw that his alarm clock read ten minutes to noon.

What the hell? Dean thought and raised a hand to rake his fingers through his hair when he froze.

His hand was coated in a tacky, red liquid, semi-dried, and his knuckles were grazed and puffy.

Bringing his hand closer to his face, Dean's eyes widened with the realization that the red substance was blood.

Dean's heart began to gallop with fear and he called his brother's name, an automatic reaction.

"SAM!"

A part of the older Winchester expected to hear his sibling trotting down the hallway, an irritated expression on his face, to ask what Dean was yelling about but instead the hunter was answered with silence.

There was no way Sam hadn't hear him. Although the Bunker was large, it was cavernous, with twisting hallways that echoed. Sam should have been at the door within seconds.

Dean looked down at his battered hands and thought: I did it again.

Bile climbed up his throat as understanding set in; Dean's hands were coated in blood, Sam wasn't coming when he called, he couldn't remember what he'd been doing before deciding to take a seat on his bed.

He'd flipped out again… and this time it wasn't at some monster or human asshole… he'd hurt his own brother.

Dean stood up as though shocked with electricity. He needed to find Sam, make sure he was okay.

"SAM!" he shouted again, "Sammy, where are you?"

Dean ran down the hallway, a quick glance into Sam's bedroom telling him his brother wasn't inside, and skidded into the Bunker's main room, his heart pounding so hard it was painful.

"Sammy?" Dean called, scanning the room frantically, "Sam-"

There he was.

Dean stepped forward, eyes wide and wet, at the sight of his brother's crumpled form.

Sam lay on his back, his right arm bent upwards at the elbow so that his hand lay beside his face, blood staining the fabric of his sleeve a dark red, and his left arm lying at his side. Blood had dried on Sam's face and in his hair, spattered onto his neck and the front of his button-up shirt.

"S-Sammy," Dean moaned and stumbled forward, falling onto his knees beside his brother, his nightmare, forgotten previously came rushing back to the elder Winchester and he reached out with a shaky hand to check for a pulse.

Blood slid wetly beneath Dean's fingers and it took him a long five minutes before he even felt anything- a pulse, weak and irregular but thankful there.

A sob broke past Dean's lips and he swiped an arm across his face roughly before gathering Sam up in his arms, gripping him tightly with the same hands that had only a short time ago beaten him.

Dean knew Sam needed help and the contents of their First Aid kid would not be enough; his brother needed a hospital.

Gritting his teeth, Dean stood and grabbed Sam beneath the armpits, pulling his upper torso up off the ground. The younger man's head fell forward to rest against his chest, his hair obscuring his battered face but he did not regain consciousness.

With agonizing slowness, Dean dragged his sibling across the main room towards the stairs that led to the front door of the Bunker, all the while praying that he wasn't too late and that his brother would be alright.

W

Dean ignored all posted speed limits as he raced into the town, Sam lying in the backseat unconscious and perhaps clinging to life.

The elder Winchester pulled the Impala right up to the sliding front doors and climbed from the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door facing the hospital.

Not wanting to injure his brother further, Dean called out instead, attracting the attention of a cadre of nurses who had been standing nearby, smoking.

A doctor who had seen the classic Chevy pull up to the front doors, ran outside, ready for action.

"What happened?" She asked as she took her stethoscope from around her neck and began to check Sam's heartbeat.

"Mugged…" Dean said the first thing that came to mind, "He was mugged."

The doctor nodded, checking Sam's heart as the nurses who had been on their break headed inside to get a gurney.

"Are you with him?" the doctor asked without looking up at Dean.

"He's my brother," Dean answered, "Please, is he going to be alright?"

The woman straightened just as four nurses came pushing a stretcher out the doors of the hospital, "We'll know as soon as I can take a look at him."

Dean nodded mutely and watched as the nurses transfer Sam from the backseat of the Impala to the gurney.

"Check in at the desk," the doctor said distractedly as Dean followed her and the nurses inside with Sam, "You'll have paperwork to fill out."

The older Winchester nodded and stopped as the medical team took his brother through a door he couldn't go through. Taking a deep breath, Dean raked both hands through his short hair and turned to the Nurses' station to gather up the paperwork.

W

Dean sank into the uncomfortable blue plastic chair in the waiting room and heaved a sigh as he watched the two police officers leave the hospital.

The doctor working on Sam had called the cops because Dean had said his brother had been mugged so the elder Winchester had had to make up a story for the police when they arrived. Dean just hoped that the cops wouldn't come back and as more questions- or want to talk to Sam- but he thought he had been pretty convincing.

Dean had been careful, not giving away too much information about the assailant, the hunter having described the attacker as a teenager wearing jeans and a black hoodie that hid his face so it was difficult to get a good look at him. Dean had also been careful to keep his hands in his pockets, lest the police see his bruised knuckles.

Now that he wasn't preoccupied with making up fake stories for the local cops, Dean was forced to wait for news on his brother.

Dean could barely believe he'd actually hurt Sam. He'd never do that… but the evidence didn't lie.

His heart clenched painfully every time he recalled the sight of Sam lying unmoving on the floor, covered in blood.

He couldn't even remember what had made him so angry. The last thing he recalled was getting up for breakfast that morning.

W

Dean lost count of how many cups of shitty vending machine coffee he had drank.

He had been sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours and there had been no word on Sam at all.

Checking his cellphone, Dean saw that it was almost eight o'clock at night and he sighed, standing up to head to the bathroom.

"Dean Winchester?"

The hunter turned in the direction of the voice to see a nurse making her way towards him.

"Is Sam okay? Can I see him?" Dean asked, anxiously.

"Not yet," the nurse said, "I'm sorry. He's still in surgery."

"Oh…" Dean hesitated, "Can you tell me anything?"

The nurse frowned and shook her head, "I'm sorry, I don't know anything. Dr. Draiman is still in the operating room with him."

The hunter nodded and sighed, watching as the nurse left the waiting room.

Tears suddenly sprang into Dean's eyes and he hurried to the men's room, closing himself into one of the stalls and leaning against the door.

"Sammy," he breathed, tears leaking down his face, "I'm so sorry, God… I'm sorry. I should have listened to you… Please be okay… Please…"

W

Dean wished he wasn't alone.

He hated hospitals and waiting around by himself just made it worse.

He refused to leave, however, not until he knew if his brother was going to be okay.

Every time a nurse walked into the waiting room he half-stood, expecting to be called on.

Slumping in his seat, Dean absently rubbed at the Mark beneath his shirtsleeve, and found himself wishing he'd never received it in the first place. Sure, it and the First Blade were the only things that could kill Abaddon, but that was little consolation when Sam was in surgery because Dean had put him there.

"Dean Winchester?"

The hunter looked up at the male nurse who was standing in the doorway of the waiting room, peering around expectantly.

Standing, Dean prepared himself to be told Sam was still in operation.

"That's me," Dean called tiredly, it was past midnight and the hospital was quiet now.

The nurse smiled, "Your brother is out of surgery and Dr. Draiman says you can see him if you like."

The hunter's heart skipped a beat and his mouth suddenly felt dry but he nodded.

Dean followed the nurse down the hallway to post-op and met his brother's doctor before he even had a chance to step into the room.

Dr. Draiman looked as tired as Dean felt, and why wouldn't' she? Having worked on Sam all day was bound to do that to any doctor.

"Is Sammy going to be alright?" Dean asked nervously, already feeling guilt swell up inside of him.

The doctor sighed and nodded, "The surgery went well."

"But…" Dean asked, the doctor hedging.

"But I am concerned about head trauma," Dr. Draiman told him, "We won't know if he sustained any or the extent of the damage until he wakes up."

Dean nodded, biting his lip.

"Can you tell me… about him?"

The doctor nodded, "The lacerations on Sam's arm were deep but I was able to stitch them back up and they should heal with some scarring. Your brother had a broken nose, a broken cheekbone, cracked teeth, a fractured eye socket, bruising and cuts to his face as well… His throat is badly bruised and I'm going to put him on soft foods while he's here and I suggest he stay on that diet until he can swallow without pain.

He also had fractured ribs but as I've said, I am worried the most about head trauma. It can be very serious and with the bruising on Sam's neck, I'm concerned he lost vital oxygen to his brain."

Dean couldn't breathe.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"Sit with him," Dr. Draiman told Dean, "Talk to him. If he wakes up, call a nurse right away."

Dean choked, "If? What do you mean, if he wakes up? Isn't Sam going to wake up?"

The doctor shook her head, "Right now its pretty touch-and-go. I am not sure how much damage your brother suffered but I'd give him a fifty-fifty chance of regaining consciousness."

Dean's eyes widened in shock and fear.

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then he'll have slipped into a coma."

Dean couldn't take it anymore. He gasped and leaned heavily against the wall, feeling as though he was going to be sick.

This couldn't be happening.

"Dean? Are you alright?" Dr. Draiman asked, concernedly and the hunter felt her hand on his arm.

"Y-Yeah…" he muttered, straightening up, "It's just a lot to take in."

The doctor nodded sympathetically.

"Sam will be okay," Dean said, mostly to himself, "He's strong. He'll be alright."

Dr. Draiman smiled, "I'm sure he will be. Would you like to see him now?"

The doctor opened the door to Sam's room and Dean stepped inside.

Tears once again welled up in the older Winchester's eyes. His brother was nearly unrecognizable.

Dean approached the bedside slowly, taking in the sight of his brother.

Sam's face and neck were swollen, both a livid blue colour from the bruises. The small cuts on his face stood out red against his skin, the deeper ones held together with bandages and stitches. A white patch covered Sam's left eye where the bone had been fractured. His right arm was encased in white gauze from wrist to elbow where Dean had slashed him with the broken juice glass. The older brother was certain his sibling's torso was also mummified in rolls of bandages for the broken ribs.

Two IV lines ran from the back of Sam's left hand and a heart monitor beeped steadily, wires reaching across the space from the machine to Sam's chest.

Dean dropped into the chair set aside for visitors and buried his head in his hands. Unable to keep his composure, Dean began to cry, terrified that he had damaged his brother beyond repair, all because he had to hide what was happening to him from his sibling.

W

Dean didn't know how long he sat there, head in his hands, pouring out his guilt and sorrow in an unusual display of emotion when he heard the beeping of the heart monitor skip.

…beep…beep…beep…beepbeep…beep…beep…

Lifting his head and wiping his face with his sleeve, Dean stared down at his brother.

"Sammy?" he whispered, "Is that you?"

Dean wasn't sure if it was a fluke or if his sibling was starting to wake. He hoped it was the latter and reached out, gently taking his brother's right hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over his sibling's knuckles.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean encouraged, "C'mon, wake up."

Sam remained as before.

Dean continued to hold his sibling's hand, quietly spurring Sam on, willing him to wake up.

W

Dean was asleep when he jumped, startled awake by Sam's hand twitching in his own.

"Sammy?" Dean called instantly, leaning forward and tightening his grip on his brother's hand ever so slightly.

"Sammy? You finally waking up?"

As Dean watched, Sam's expression changed, no longer was it the calm of anesthesia-induced slumber; Sam frowned, his mouth almost twitching and the eye not covered by a patch fluttered.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said eagerly, "C'mon, you can do it."

With painful slowness, Sam's eye opened halfway. Dean couldn't help but beam, tears pricking the corners of his own eyes.

Sam's eye was glazed, confusion clouding it for a moment before it rolled up and focused on Dean's face.

Oh no, the older brother thought with a sickening jolt, what if he hates me? What if he's scared of me?

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said quietly, gently and his heart broke when he saw tears well up in his brother's uninjured eye.

"Sammy," he whispered, "I'm sorry… I'm so damn sorry. Please don't hate me… Please… I… I couldn't bear it."

Dean spoke around the lump in his throat, certain that at any moment his brother was going to start panicking and he'd be kicked out of the room.

Instead of showing mistrust or fear- which he had every right to- Sam reached out with both arms towards his brother.

Dean choked back a sob and embraced his brother carefully, tears streaming down his face as Sam hugged him as tightly as he could.

"D'n."

The elder brother pulled back at the awful rasping sound that was his name, spoken through his sibling's abused throat.

"No, Sammy, don't talk," Dean said but Sam's eye hardened and he shut up.

"Now… d-do you un-un-" Sam began, the effort of speaking clearly causing him pain and he couldn't finished but Dean understood.

The older sibling nodded, "I understand, Sammy. I do and I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to help you find a way to get this goddamned Mark off me."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Apparently Sam believed him and he sighed, closing his eyes again.

"I'm never going to let anything like that happen again," Dean promised, leaning forward as his brother slept and brushed Sam's bangs away from his face, kissing him carefully on the head.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a Black Sabbath song.


End file.
